


Journey into the Unknown

by trollmela



Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, Troy (2004)
Genre: Animal Death, Blood Drinking, Gen, Implied/Referenced Torture, Murder, Slavery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-03
Updated: 2014-01-03
Packaged: 2018-01-07 07:36:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 22,203
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1117242
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trollmela/pseuds/trollmela
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The war of Troy is abruptly decided by an overwhelming force of foreigners wielding weapons and riding animals that have never been seen before. Patroclus is taken away, and Achilles and Odysseus follow the army into unknown lands far away to get him back.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> **Warnings:** Use of torture, slavery, murder, killing of animals, drinking of blood
> 
>  **Author's Notes:** This story was written for the journeystory big bang. Thanks goes to nickygabriel for organizing the big bang, tinypinkmouse for betaing this monster within a couple of weeks, my dear friend halofin17 for supporting and encouraging me throughout the project, and mangacrack for creating really awesome art for it! Thank you so much everyone!
> 
>  **Art:** You can find mangacrack's art for this story [here](http://mangacrack.livejournal.com/107959.html).

A couple of days before Troy was turned into a bloodbath, dark clouds from the east overshadowed the area. Day seemed to turn to night, and it was strange, for neither rain nor thunderstorm followed the clouds. Moreover, it was summer, when rain was rare. Priests were called for, in Troy as well as in the Achaean camp on the beach. Troy’s priests interpreted the strange phenomenon as the gods gathering to eradicate the Achaeans; meanwhile, Greek priests read them as omens of Troy’s impending fall, and Agamemnon called for another series of attacks on Troy.

Achilles and his men stayed in the camp. The leader of the Myrmidons was still bitter at the King of Kings and refused to fight for him until Agamemnon had made amends. Patroclus disapproved of this, and once again loudly voiced his displeasure.

But even as the Achaeans made their preparations, they felt the ground tremble beneath them. The men were alarmed, but the priests insisted that the tremors announced the gods preparing to ruin the walls that kept the Greeks out of the city. Achilles had his doubts. In his experience, men knew little of gods. And it seemed that he was right because Troy managed to once again defend their city and eventually drive off the Achaeans.

But even Achilles did not think more about the tremors. Later he would wonder why, be furious with himself for neglecting his duty to his men so badly. But as it was, he was just as surprised as the rest of the Greek encampment, just as surprised as the Trojans, when they were woken the next morning by strange trumpets to a blood-red dawn barely discernible through the clouds.

The dark clouds had settled firmly above them and it had started raining for the first time in nearly a month. The sun rose behind Troy in the east, and in the north an army stood bathed in an eerie, red light. After years of war, it did not take the Achaeans long to shake the sleep off, but they never stood a chance. There were too many of the attackers, at least as many as the sons of Greece that had come to Troy’s shores before hundreds of them had fallen in battle. Moreover, this foreign army had more than men. They did not have horse-drawn chariots, but colossal beasts with large tusks. They were much larger than any horse, nearly as large as the very gates of Troy.

To everyone’s mutual horror, they attacked indiscriminately, both Greeks and Trojans falling to their blades and arrows. It was a bloodbath, and despite everything Achilles had thought himself and any other Achaean capable of, they found themselves helpless against this enemy. For a long time Achilles would wonder who they were, where they had come from, and what their intention had been in attacking them.

The beasts destroyed their ships first, walking right over them and splintering and trampling the wood as if it was nothing more than grass. Next was the Greek camp, and not even Achilles’ Myrmidons were a match.

They fought fiercely but were ruthlessly squashed on the ground by the beasts. Achilles slaughtered the men that he could reach, slitting throats, only to jump away in the next moment from an approaching beast. He was forced to discard his shield, as it hindered him in moving fast enough to evade the beasts, which seemed to be immune to his blade.

The Myrmidon reached for a spear lying forgotten on the ground. It was nothing like those he owned himself but it would have to do. The beasts were led by men sitting on the animals’ backs, so he took aim at the nearest one and threw. The spear caught the rider in the chest and he fell off the animal. But the attack had drawn the attention of the archers on the beast’s back.

Achilles evaded the first couple of arrows but even he could not deflect them all without a shield. He heard a voice cry his name and he swung around just as an arrow hit him in the shoulder. He was lucky that he had turned, otherwise it would most likely have hit him in the chest. He didn’t see the shooter, as he was distracted by Patroclus.

He had been the one to shout his name; he was right in the middle of the raging battle, blood dripping from his side and Achilles ran towards him. Grasping him by the arm, he said:

“We need to get out of here. We don’t stand a chance. None of us stand a chance.”

“But-“

His cousin’s protests were cut off by a loud crash of stones from the city. They looked up and gasped to see that one of the large beasts had crashed right through the gates of Troy. Stones tumbled down in its wake.

“They... they broke into the city!” Patroclus stuttered.

“Yes,” Achilles replied grimly. They truly stood no chance. He wondered whether Hector fought uselessly on the ground, and whether Paris would be on the wall with his bow.

All around them, the camp lay destroyed. Their ships were useless. Their men were dead. Achilles couldn’t even see or hear Agamemnon.

Achilles pulled Patroclus along. “Come on.”

They made for the ships. They were useless for sailing, but they could provide them with cover at least. His cousin was in such shock that he did not resist and only stumbled along with Achilles. The Myrmidon had prided himself in having never lost a battle, having never turned his back on the enemy and run; now he found himself in a position where he had to do exactly that.

They slipped into a broken hull. Achilles could only hope that none of the beasts would run over the shipwrecks again but it seemed that now that the Greeks had been largely vanquished, the foreign army turned its gaze on the city of Troy.

Achilles watched through some gaps in the wood as they stormed the city. It gave him the chance to finally study who they were up against. The men’s heads and faces were covered with dark cloth, but Achilles could see on their naked arms that they were tanned and dark-haired. Most of them carried long pikes and large, rectangular shields. The shields they carried on their backs in order to have both hands free to wield the pike. Many had swords longer than the Greek blades, while others carried bows and arrows; some of the warriors threw balls of fire. Their greatest weapons however were their huge animals. They did not have many of the beasts, but so far no one had managed to kill one; the arrows seemed to be as flies to a horse—annoying but not fatal. Achilles found that what he hated most was how the soldiers fought anonymously with covered faces.

He wished to return to battle, but they had no hopes of achieving anything. He won battles; he did not fight in ones he was bound to lose, especially not with his cousin in tow. The arrow in his shoulder was beginning to hurt, his battle fever no longer masking the pain. He wanted to take it out, but he would risk breaking off the head of the arrow.

He turned to Patroclus. The younger man was lying on his back, chest heaving but visibly trying to refrain from breathing too loudly. His eyes were wide and panicked, and Achilles shifted closer to him. He picked at the tunic, drawing it aside to see the wound. It was a slash caused by a blade but thankfully not very deep. It would need stitches eventually.

Achilles turned to his own injury. He still had a knife and his sword on him; cutting a strip off from the bottom of his tunic was a task of a few moments. Then he grasped the shaft of the arrow and quickly yanked it out; he bit back the cry of pain that wanted to escape. As he had feared, the arrow head was still lodged inside. With some difficulty he pressed the cloth to the wound anyway.

A closer look at the wound revealed that the blood moved sluggishly and that it was dirty. He wondered whether the arrow had been poisoned.

“Patroclus,“ He began, “the arrow I was shot with may have been poisoned.”

“What?!”

His cousin pressed against him.

Achilles was already beginning to feel dizzy: if he was right, moving the arrow head had only increased the poison’s speed.

“I’m going to pass out. Don’t move from here, don’t risk yourself,” Achilles rasped. “I will survive.” He grasped Patroclus’ chin and forced him to meet his eyes. “You hear me: I will survive!”

To be truthful, he did not know whether he would. He did not know what poison the foreigners had used, or what the desired effect was—unconsciousness or death. But he was a demigod, strong and healthy. He had very good chances of surviving.

Black spots were already beginning to dance in front of his eyes. He leant backwards in hopes of getting through the dizzy spell without actually passing out. His desire was not granted; everything went black and suddenly he was gone.

 

When he woke, it was dark. With great effort, he turned his head to the side to look out through the planks and saw that it was night. A whole day at least must have passed then. But more important than that, he was alone.

Where was his cousin?

The beach was deserted, which was a miracle in itself. Had he been leading the army, he would have used the beach to rest. But perhaps they had not liked to remain, for countless bodies of Greeks still littered the sand.

On closer observation, though, he realized that he was not as alone as he had thought: there was someone out there in the distance and they had had started a fire big enough to be a funeral fire. Could it be a survivor?

Achilles stumbled to shaky feet. He reached for his sword—and found that it was gone. How could that have happened? He surveyed his surroundings and only then did he notice the number of footprints in the sand, the chaos which seemed to have increased since he had blacked out. It didn’t take him long to figure it out: somehow the enemy had found their hideout and taken Patroclus away—unless his cousin had run, which Achilles doubted. Achilles they had assumed to be dead and taken his weapons.

The Myrmidon ducked outside through the hole of the wrecked hull. The man by the fire was focused entirely on the flames, and didn’t hear him approach for a long time. There was no cover, and Achilles walked straight towards him, perhaps uncaring, perhaps feeling overly confident. Achilles recognized him even before the other man heard him.

“Odysseus!”

The Ithacan swung around with an audible gasp.

“Achilles! Brother, thank the Gods you’re alive!” Odysseus grasped Achilles by the arm and pulled him into a heartfelt embrace. Thankfully it was on the Myrmidon’s uninjured side. Odysseus was beaten and bloody but more hale than the younger warrior, and, unlike the Myrmidon, he was armed with a sword. His shield lay not far from them in the sand.

Achilles stared into the fire. He could detect Nestor through the flames, a man Odysseus had respected greatly. Achilles had respected him, too. Nestor had fought great battles in his youth and while he had left the fighting to the others at his advanced age, his council had been sound. He had tried to make Achilles reconcile with Agamemnon but in this he had not succeeded and now he never would.

Odysseus released Achilles but remained close enough that their shoulders touched. He, too, was looking into the fire.

“What happened to us, Achilles?” He asked, sounding tired, defeated and grim.

“I don’t know,” the warrior admitted, voice still hoarse.

Odysseus took a closer look at him then, and saw the shoulder wound. He lifted Achilles’ tunic to study it, having to use a bit of force to lift the cloth stuck to the wound. Achilles bore it.

“It’s poisoned,” the warrior admitted. “And the arrow head is still inside.”

Odysseus cursed. “We need to find something to wrap the wound with. And you need herbs. Did you have any in your hut?”

“Yes. If the army didn’t loot everything they may still be there.”

“They focused mostly on Troy. Out here, they just had their beasts trample everything.”

“Have you ever seen or heard of such animals?”

Odysseus shook his head. “Believe me, before today, I didn’t think anything like this could ever happen. Come on.”

Together, they went in search of what was left of Achilles' hut. The improvised building had been destroyed, but it didn’t look as if the beasts had stepped onto it directly. They threw the destroyed wood aside and unearthed Achilles’ belongings, even his armour was still there and largely undamaged. Evidently the foreigners had not bothered searching the remains. Achilles knew where he kept his herbs and thus they quickly found the clay pot he had put them in. The clay pot was in pieces, and the herbs dirty with sand, but they could wash that off. They also found some bandages. Now they only needed water.

There was a small river leading into the river which the Greeks had used as a supply for drinking water. Walking there was exhausting for the Myrmidon, but with Odysseus’ help he managed.

As the Ithacan tended to him, he drifted off again.

The next days he would only remember in flashes. From time to time he awoke, but his tongue felt leaden and he was hardly able to articulate words. He was thirsty, but unable to lift a finger. Odysseus had to put a flask to his lips and let the water trickle into his mouth.

He lay like this for seven days. Odysseus built a new hut over him, went hunting when Achilles slept and tended to his needs when he was awake. On the eighth day Achilles woke for the first time with a clear head and was finally able to sit up.

“You made it.”

The Myrmidon only nodded weakly. He had made it.

* * *

Three days later they entered Troy, or rather, what was left of it. If anyone had survived, they had abandoned the city. It stank of decaying bodies, the heat not helping at all, and even for Odysseus and Achilles it was nearly unbearable. They went into the palace, stepping over bodies of warriors they had seen in battle, nephews and sons of the king, and even Priam himself. The old king had been slain in his throne room. Achilles wondered whether the army had even known who they were massacring.

It was impossible to take stock of everyone who had died. They noted that not all of Priam’s sons were among the dead they saw. Odysseus had spent every free moment giving Greek warriors a pyre, although few had been given their own. Too many bodies lay on the ground, threatening to poison the ground and the waters, hence forcing Odysseus to burn many on the same pyre. It was not their duty to do the same in Troy, and Achilles had reason to wish to leave the beach as quickly as possible.

He had grieved when he was told that his commander Eudorus had been among the dead. Odysseus had kept his body wrapped in a blanked and buried him under a pile of stones until Achilles awakened, knowing that the Myrmidon would want to be there when they gave his faithful friend to the ferryman.

Patroclus had not been one of the bodies on the beach. Chances were that the army had taken him away along with many Trojans as slaves. Achilles swore to follow them.

“I may be able to help with that.”

The Ithacan led Achilles to the ship wrecks and entered the hull Achilles and Patroclus had hidden in. To the Myrmidon’s surprise, it wasn’t empty. A man bound with coarse rope glared up at them from his painful position on the ground. Even without checking Achilles could tell that the ropes were very tight.

“I found him while you were unconscious. I thought he might have some information for us but have not had the chance to interrogate him yet.”

“If he even speaks our language,” Achilles put in. He could not wait to try.

A glance at Odysseus was enough to receive permission. The blond reached out a waiting hand and accepted the knife Odysseus gave him. They did not have either the patience or the mind to ask politely.

They got what they wanted. The man had been a Phoenician mercenary before he had joined the passing army of a land called Harad, which had come looting and murdering from the east. They marched under the banner of the “Black Eye”, although the Phoenician knew little about whom or what exactly that symbol stood for. Allegedly it stood for a great sorcerer in the north who had promised the Harad leaders power and wealth if they supported and fought for him.

“Was this sorcerer with the army?” Odysseus asked.

“No,” the man panted through his pain. “He is awaiting them in the north, they said.”

“Why did the army here turn back?” Achilles demanded, pressing the knife into a cut he had made himself.

“No ships! We have no ships! We were supposed to turn back earlier but then the commanders saw the city and the camp and thought it would be easy prey.”

It had been easy, relatively. Besides Greek and Trojan bodies, they had also found many Haradrim. No Trojan or Greek had given up easily, but in the end, everyone had been overrun.

The bodies, however, had not revealed much. Their weapons and armour had been taken and carried off, and only some personal belongings and their clothes had been left untouched. Odysseus and he had looked at some of their faces, all of them unfamiliar and strange.

Most important to Achilles was the fact that they had not found Patroclus’ body.

“Any other questions?” The Myrmidon asked Odysseus.

The older man shook his head and Achilles put the knife to the captive man’s throat and slit it without leaving the man time to even anticipate the move.

They went outside.

“Do we know of anyone else who may be a captive?” Achilles inquired, gazing at the blood on his hand.

“No,” Odysseus said. “You plan on following them then?”

He nodded gravely. “Yes. Until the end of the world if I must.” He gave Odysseus a searching look. “Are you coming?”

“Nearly everyone I know died in a battle which lasted less than a day and you ask me whether I would follow you. By the gods, yes!”

 

The army had a head start of more than sixteen days. Odysseus and Achilles were badly equipped for following it; they had no horses, lacked in sufficient arms, let alone provisions and although Achilles would not admit it, he was not quite up to his normal strength yet.

Achilles and Odysseus assumed that the foreign army would not be able to travel at great speed either. They had spoils to carry, captives to transport, and cattle to drive. Achilles firmly wanted to believe that Patroclus would be among those people, but could he know for certain? No, he could not. All he had was hope, the most fickle thing in this world.

The army left a path of destruction in its wake and it marched east inland. As the days wore on, the two Greeks got used to seeing even more bodies and destroyed homes. But then they started to come across a strange thing: the army was leaving part of their spoils behind! Instead of taking the animals back home, they slaughtered some each night for the army and at the rate they were going, there would not be any cattle left for much longer; perhaps they did not have any left even now. Although they had to keep in mind that they did not know what the large beasts ate: if they ate meat, it was no surprise the cattle was being slaughtered so quickly.

But besides the animals, they found dead captives. Achilles and Odysseus did not recognize them personally, but the bruises around their wrists and ankles were proof enough that they had been tied. Both men and women had been killed, and the first they came across, either had injuries, or were a bit too old or too young to be of use. Perhaps that was why they had been killed. But why take them in the first place then? Apparently, for whatever reason, the army was now in a sudden hurry to leave the area.

What was it that had made them suddenly realize that they needed to hurry? The Phoenician had mentioned that a sorcerer commanded them. Did this man have a way of contacting his men?

Achilles and Odysseus also quickly noted with some discomfort that wherever the army went, dark clouds accompanied them. The advantage was that it made following them easier.

Still, it was as if evil gave them speed. It seemed as if Achilles and Odysseus were damned to follow them from afar and never catch up.


	2. Chapter 2

The countryside began to change. Green grass gave way to increasingly dry and finally barren ground. They had not seen a true forest for days. The sun seemed to be hotter than even Achilles and Odysseus were used to, and it was a test in discipline to continue wearing their armour.

They had taken a couple of horses some way back, forcing their previous owner to retreat with two drawn swords in his face. Yet Odysseus was beginning to regret following an army while being so ignorant of the lands ahead of them.

They had not seen any other living being to ask for the way in a while. Thus they had no warning, and suddenly they found themselves in the desert. They had started carrying water in skins, but only the gods—and most likely the army in front of them—knew where the desert stopped and how long it would take to get to the end.

“We should have thought this through better,” Odysseus reprimanded himself and his companion. “We have no idea where we are going or what awaits us there. Strength of arms is good and well, but against the elements they are of no use.”

“We’re not turning back. This desert must end somewhere, and the army ahead of us must have come through here on its way to Troy.”

“True. But do you know how much water they can transport? With those beasts I’m sure they have plenty. And no doubt they know the land. Unlike us.”

Still, Achilles persisted and against his own inner voice, Odysseus continued to follow. The desert, however, seemed to go on endlessly. The days stretched on, and the sun burned down on them unchangingly. Their horses were the first to succumb. Odysseus horse collapsed first, refusing to rise or budge no matter how the two warriors tried to force it.

Odysseus’ own tongue seemed to have swollen to twice its size, and he was so thirsty that he feared swallowing would deprive him of the last drops of moisture. He pulled his knife and cut the horse’s throat. Achilles was standing behind him as he put his lips to the cut and drank the blood. The Ithacan was in such a state that even the blood tasted like nectar of the gods to him. When he let up, Achilles pushed him aside and drank as well.

They moved on. They went thirsty for as long as they reasonably could before the Myrmidon’s horse met the same end as Odysseus’.

“We need to turn back,” Odysseus said again.

“We’ll never make it out of here. We can follow our own tracks, yes, but for how long before they’ll have disappeared? Do you see any way we could orientate ourselves? We need to continue following the army and hope that we’re close to water.”

Odysseus grimaced. “Curse you, Achilles!”

The Myrmidon ignored his words and grasped him by the arm to pull him away from the carcass. He had saved some precious drops in his waterskin, but it would not last them long at all. Together, they stumbled onwards.

When they fell asleep that night, Odysseus prayed fervently that they would wake the next day.

They did. They would probably both have liked to remain on the ground forever. But they couldn’t. Their heads told them that they had to try and walk onwards, try and get out of this desert which seemed to be the very bowels of Hades. They did try. Later, Odysseus wouldn’t be certain when he passed out—before or after noon.

They were dead. There hadn’t even been anyone to put the coins on their eyes to pay the ferryman. Odysseus had thought about death; what warrior could refrain from doing so when they looked death in the eye so often? He had thought that it would be quick, that friends would gather his body, give him the boat fare, and that he would find himself somewhere peaceful and comfortable.

He had never imagined dying of thirst. Sure, Greece had some hot summers, but it had never occurred to him that one day he would be stumbling through a desert and experience his greatest defeat at Gaia’s hands.

 

The first thing Achilles became aware of was how cool the air was, and how hot his skin felt. He thought he heard someone approaching, kneeling down next to him, and he meant to jerk up and wrap his hand around this person’s throat until he was certain that they were no threat. But instead he merely proved that he _himself_ was no threat. The motion of sitting up remained a mere idea; his hand lifted perhaps the length of a palm before it dropped weakly onto the ground again. Opening his eyes revealed a lot of white.

A female voice spoke softly, to him, he thought. He could not tell what she said, the language foreign to him. The white was removed and he realized that it had been a cloth, drenched in cool water. A shape appeared above him, and Achilles frowned: the person’s face was hidden, a black cloth covering her head and leaving nothing but the eyes visible. The only reason Achilles was able to tell her gender was the fact that she still spoke to him.

He tried to shake his head to say that he didn’t understand her. It made her speak even more, more quickly, too, and Achilles found that this was too much.

“I don’t understand,” he pressed out. He found his lips moist, but his throat was still dry and his voice rough.

That shut her up. Abruptly she turned away, returning with a waterskin from the other side of the tent. It was the first time Achilles took note of his surroundings. She pulled him up surprisingly efficiently and pushed a pillow beneath his upper body. Supporting himself on his arms, Achilles managed to sit up enough that the woman could set the waterskin to his lips and had him drink. She made soothing noises as if he was a child, and pulled the drink away much too soon.

If he had had the strength, he would have followed, but she made noises and gestures that made him understand that he needed to wait until he was allowed more.

“Where are we?” He asked, knowing he would not get an answer.

He did, but not one he understood. He turned his head, taking in his surroundings and discovered Odysseus lying not far from him. As if perceiving his thoughts, the woman went to the Ithacan and touched his face. Odysseus did not seem to react and she turned back to Achilles, shaking her head while saying something. Achilles could guess that she meant to tell him that his friend wasn’t awake yet. The Myrmidon calmed himself with the reminder that their hosts would hardly have bothered to take Odysseus with them if he was dead.

Achilles found himself drifting off again.

The next time he woke to a person slapping his face and he found that he had enough strength to be angry. Opening his eyes he sat up quickly, nearly knocking heads with Odysseus.

“Careful, friend,” he admonished him. “We need to get moving. Do you want water?”

Achilles nodded quickly and received a waterskin for his efforts.

 

Neither Achilles nor Odysseus understood where they were going. They had gathered that the family that had found them were nomads. They at least seemed to know what they were doing. They gave the Greeks food and water. They didn’t appear to be interested in knowing where their foundlings came from: they made no attempts to communicate with them beyond gestures asking whether they were hungry or thirsty or tired.

Thus they journeyed through the desert, hoping the nomads would lead them to more populated areas. Most curious for the two warriors was that they did not have horses: instead, they travelled on large, brown, very placid-looking animals that the nomads called _dromedary_. They seemed to never thirst or tire. The nomads did not have enough for all of them to ride, but Odysseus and Achilles were given the opportunity to do so while they were still weak. The height was the strangest aspect about it all.

The wasteland seemed to go on endlessly and Achilles was quickly thoroughly sick of the sand, which slipped into every fold of his clothing. He was relieved when the nomads made rest in an oasis and he was at last able to wash. They stayed for five days, Achilles counting down each of them impatiently as he thought of Patroclus. The risk that they had already lost all trace of him, was too high. On the sixth day, a caravan arrived and joined them by the water. They, too, owned several dromedary.

Customs and dress might have been very different in these lands but Achilles was still able to see that this was a caravan of slave traders. The leader was a man about Odysseus’ age dressed in brightly coloured clothes. His earlobes were pierced with heavy gold rings; his expression was friendly as he greeted an old man who was apparently the leader of these nomads, but who had never spoken to Odysseus and Achilles. That was Odysseus’ first clue that perhaps they had never been guests for these people.

The trader’s wares were currently made up of two men, one woman and two children. One man was in his thirties and of slender build; the other was younger than Patroclus with a slender figure that excluded any past as a warrior or farmer. The woman was covered from head to toe, making any judgment impossible. Seven large, burly men guarded them; Odysseus could not see much of them as scarves hid their faces. It seemed to be customary in this country.

Odysseus jabbed his elbow into Achilles’ ribs to gain his attention.

“Look,” he said in a low voice, indicating the slave trader. He was handing a small sack to the nomads.

“They sold us?” Achilles hissed, anger rising hot within him. “I will be no man’s slave!”

“I think the gods have just decided otherwise, my friend.”

“I’m going to slay them-“ Achilles’ every muscle tensed in preparation of doing just that.

Odysseus grasped him by the shoulder and held him in place, fingernails digging into the warrior’s skin.

“Don’t be a fool! We’re still in the middle of the desert! You’ll keep your temper under wraps and we’ll go with that caravan like two well-behaved slaves. Once we are out of this wasteland, we can escape. With your strength and my cunning, we’ll find a way. Don’t resist like some maiden afraid for her virginity; you may be handsome, but a maiden you are not.”

Achilles snorted heavily.

“Do you hear me?” Odysseus demanded.

“Yes, I hear you,” Achilles returned past gritted teeth.

“And do you understand?”

“I’m not a child, Odysseus,” Achilles snapped.

“Then take care not to behave like one and think before you act! It starts now.”

The slave trader was approaching them.


	3. Chapter 3

They had to travel for five more days to find the other end of the desert. The slaves were forced to walk while the masters rode on the dromedary. Achilles did indeed toe the line, for which Odysseus was grateful. The Myrmidon would have had to be blind not to see the watchful eye he was under. Their guards were no fools, and could guess that they had been warriors.

What they did not know, but soon heard from one of the other slaves, a bard named Pindar from Mykonos, was that they were following a road that in these parts was simply hard to see: it was called the Harad Road. Apparently, it led all the way from the south northwards to a place called Ithilien.

That, however, was not their destination. Once the desert had ended, they passed through a town where they spent a night. The slaves were guarded heavily and usually stuck together. Odysseus had hoped that the guards’ attention would lessen if everyone behaved. But the opposite was true. They were experienced with human wares and knew that once out of the desert it was much more likely that a slave would try to escape.

Yet Odysseus had not lost hope. Achilles and he had been fed well, and they had both regained their strength. There were seven guards, but if they could only get their hands on a weapon, Odysseus was confident that they could take them. At night only two men guarded the slaves at a time. There was a schedule, and Odysseus understood and memorized it quickly.

They went with the caravan for many days. Achilles’ temper was becoming short, his mind ever on Patroclus’ fate. However, they had lost any trace of the army long ago. Their caravan left the Harad road and travelled over barren plains until they reached a town located at the source of a river. It was not deep enough for ships, so the people used rafts to transport wares on it. This meant that the town had a market, and Odysseus had to assume that it was more and more likely that they would be sold.

“We are running out of time,” Achilles hissed into his ear that night. “We must find Patroclus. If we wait much longer and are unlucky, they might sell us right here down the river!”

“I know,” Odysseus replied. “We need to get rid of the ropes somehow.”

“I have a sharp stone behind me. If I chafe at the ropes long enough, I should be rid of them before morning.”

“It would be best if we got as far as possible during the night. Once the day dawns, they can follow our tracks all the sooner.”

“If they go to that much trouble.”

“I don’t want to risk it. It is already dangerous, because we know nothing about this area.”

“Are you suggesting we wait then?” Achilles sneered. “I’m done waiting.”

Odysseus huffed. “I swear, if you get us killed, I will find you in the underworld or the Fields!”

Achilles merely laughed.

The Myrmidon was quick, and extremely skilled. When the guards were not looking, he opened Odysseus’ bonds. Once Odysseus was free, they struck.

Achilles was extremely efficient when killing. He wasted neither breath, nor stroke of his sword. The two Greek warriors threw themselves upon the guards, neither of whom were able to raise their voices in alarm. Achilles disposed of one by breaking his neck, and Odysseus’ victim lost his life between Odysseus’ fingers cutting of his air supply.

The other slaves were woken by the small commotion. Their hyper-vigilance ensured that they did not miss Achilles’ and Odysseus’ actions.

Pindar held out his bound hands. “Free us!” He hissed.

Achilles gave Odysseus a questioning look, but for the Ithacan there was no question about it. He cut their bonds with one of the guard’s knives. Achilles followed his lead. Luckily, the woman and children were sensible enough not to raise their voices.

Then the two warriors took all of the guards’ weapons.

“Their clothes?” Achilles inquired shortly.

Odysseus nodded. They could use them to blend in better. They threw them on over their own clothing, finding a bag with coins on each of them, which they took as well.

“Now let’s get out of here,” Odysseus said.

The others wordlessly followed the two warriors’ lead. For now it was just about escaping and getting as far away from the slavers as possible. Later they could decide whether they wanted to remain together or not.

None of them knew the town. There the warriors were, with a Greek bard, a young man, a woman and two girls in tow, and little idea of what to do. They fled through the dark, completely deserted streets to the river. Odysseus meant to follow it, but the woman, Haidee, latched onto his arm and jerked him to a stop.

She pointed towards the river, and said something that sounded quite insistent. Unfortunately, Odysseus could not understand her.

“She says we should steal a raft,” the bard Pindar interpreted for him. “She knows how to steer one.”

Odysseus cursed himself for not thinking of it himself. He knew his way around a raft as well as a ship.

He nodded. “Thank you.”

They scurried down to the riverbank. After a while of walking along it, they found a raft tied to a bush with no guard in sight. The owner had probably thought it unnecessary. For the slaves it was large enough to accommodate all of them, although it would not be a luxurious mode of transport. The raft was probably used to transport wood and other goods that did not need much protection from the elements. The advantage for the escaped slaves was that it did not leave traces the way footprints or hooves did, and that they would be faster on the river’s current than their slavers on horses or even dromedary.

When the sun rose over the horizon, they were long gone from the town.

Their companions were Pindar, the bard from Mykonos, the woman Haidee, the young man called Asu, and the girls Summar and Nahrin. While those four were all from somewhere in the realm of Far Harad, they had not been taken from the same place. Haidee and Asu were dancers. Their previous owner had sold them when customers became scarce. They took care of the children, keeping them calm so the warriors could take care of the raft. The girls had been sold by their families because they were poor and unable to raise them and supply them with a proper dowry. Pindar explained that it was a common problem among the poor.

The bard had initially come to Far Harad willingly. He had been interested in new tales and songs, had learnt the language, and then, through misfortune, fallen into the hands of the slavers.

Pindar wanted to return to Greece, but to his disappointment, Achilles and Odysseus had no intention of doing so yet.

“Do you know anything of a large army?” Odysseus asked him. “One with large beasts that are grey and tough-skinned and have tusks? They can be ridden by several people. The warriors are armed with shields, spears, and long swords...”

Pindar shuddered. “You speak of the Haradrim army. Yes, I have seen them, although mercifully only from afar. Is that why you are here?”

“Aye, they attacked us at Troy.”

Pindar’s eyes widened. “Did Agamemnon’s armies loose then?”

Achilles laughed humourlessly. “They are all dead and Troy lies destroyed, too. They took slaves, however, and among them my cousin.”

“I see. I know little about it all, except that it is said that a sorcerer is king of Harad and Far Harad, and that he commanded all armies to come to him.”

“A sorcerer?” Odysseus frowned.

Pindar squirmed. “Let me ask the others. Perhaps they know more.”

He turned to Haidee and Asu, who were sitting with the girls in their laps. Pindar spoke to them, and Odysseus could see Haidee’s eyes widen. Asu looked away when the Ithacan looked at him, but he had already seen the fear in his eyes.

The two dancers briefly gazed at each other. While Asu shook his head in what he thought was a subtle manner, Haidee turned to Odysseus and said, with Pindar again acting as the interpreter:

“Some years ago a great sorcerer called for the armies of Harad, Far Harad and Umbar. He promised the people wealth and power away from the yoke of Gondor, and so the armies all answered his call and went north. I know all this because there was a man of high standing in the army who liked to see me dance. He told me all kinds of stories. He, like most of the army, never returned, for Gondor defeated them, and the sorcerer, it is said, was killed as well. Now there is a new king of Harad, one who is said to have been an apprentice of the great sorcerer before him. He called the armies to him because, after years of peace, he is challenging Gondor again. The armies are cruel, however, even to their own brothers and sisters of Harad. When they come, it is best to hide.”

“So they are all gathering in the north now? What about the prisoners and the loot they have taken?”

“That I cannot tell you, for I do not know. But I suppose they might be taken to the King in Saharel, the capital. It lies on a river, far north from here. But I have never been there.”

Odysseus ceased asking then. They followed the river until noon, when they reached a town. Odysseus and Achilles were unwilling to stay long, but they were all hungry. The girls had started to whine as well, although they were overall well-behaved and kept quiet.

It turned out that the coin they had taken from the guards would not last long. The master would likely have paid them in full only at the end of the journey. Asu took his leave while they went searching for food, promising to be back soon. Haidee did not seem worried and bought extra food for him. After they had eaten, the dancer took the girls with her back to the raft; Achilles went off on his own, and Odysseus, with Pindar’s help, made inquiries about where the river led. So far, the current had not been very strong, but they were told that it would pick up in a day or so when another river from the south joined it. At its end, the river flowed into the sea at the City of Corsairs in the Havens of Umbar.

“I have heard of that place,” Pindar told Odysseus. “It is ruled by pirates and anarchy.”

“A good place to hide then.”

Pindar, however, looked worried. “It’s not a safe place.”

“Nowhere is really safe for us, especially as long as the slavers might still be following us.” He gave Pindar a significant look. “If you want to return to Greece, a port city is your best chance.”

“For you as well. Umbar lies to the west. You want to go north, but you do not have the means, having neither animals nor a guide. In Umbar you can offer your services as guards or mercenaries and find a caravan or group to go north with.”

“We will be nearly useless as long as we do not understand the people here. I want you to teach me their language.”

The bard bowed. “I’ll do my best, King Odysseus.”

Odysseus smiled. “There’s no need for titles, friend. Just yesterday we were both slaves.”

“As you wish.”

Odysseus walked with Pindar through the town. He wanted to find Achilles and Asu, then they would leave.

Hearing music and seeing a small crowd, Odysseus was curious to see what attracted them. He could hear someone playing the flute, and when he got close enough to see, he saw that it was an elderly man sitting on a rug on the ground. In front of him was Asu, dancing to the music. He resembled flowing water, turning in circles and moving his hips to the rhythm as his hands described figures in the air. He wore only wide pants, the rest of his clothing—a tunic and a cloak for cold desert nights lay discarded in a heap on the ground next to the musician.

“Oh, I’ve seen such dancers before!” Pindar said excitedly in a low voice to Odysseus. “They are a wonder to see, and seem to be quite common in these lands. There are fewer men than women, but Asu is quite good. Do you not agree? Usually the dancers wear bangles and jewels, which make their performance even more stunning.”

“Aye, he is very good. King Agamemnon had similar dancers at his court, all of them women.”

The flute player soon finished his song, and Asu bowed, ending the performance. There were some disappointed sighs. As the crowd dispersed, the people dropped coins into the musician’s bowl, or pressed some directly into Asu’s hand. Odysseus watched Asu and the flute player split the earnings. Then the dancer took his clothing again, and joined Pindar and Odysseus. Achilles had also emerged from the crowd. Asu showed Odysseus his hand full of coins.

“If we stop in larger towns, I can bring more. Women do not dance on the street without veils, so Haidee cannot do it. But I can, so we never need to go hungry,” he said.

Odysseus nodded approvingly. They went back to their raft and set off.

Their luck held. As the day waned, they stopped again at a smaller town. Pindar and Asu negotiated with one of the two innkeepers in town, and in return for Asu and Haidee dancing and Odysseus and Achilles mucking out the stables, they received two rooms to sleep in, dinner, and breakfast. The innkeeper quickly announced the dancers’ performance in town, and Odysseus had the feeling that the owner profited more from their stay than they did. But he did not ask questions, which was worth a lot as well.

Before they set off on the raft the next day, Asu came to him with Pindar.

“Haidee and I have spoken about our future. I was told that we will soon arrive in a larger town, which is governed by a rich lord. Haidee and I hope to find a dance house there where we can work. I think we are good enough that we can convince the owner to allow us to keep the girls with us. We can train them as dancers, so they have at least some better future than selling themselves or being slaves.”

Odysseus nodded. “It sounds like a reasonable plan. We will part in that city then.”


	4. Chapter 4

The city of the Corsairs was better and yet worse than Odysseus had imagined. Pindar kept close to his side, and Achilles never took his hand off his sabre.

They had parted from the dancers and the girls as planned. Odysseus had wanted to remain until he was certain that the dancers found a suitable establishment, and the gods had once again smiled at them: Haidee and Asu had convinced the owner of a dance house with their skill the day they had arrived, and in the morning, they had said their farewells. Their last gift to their rescuers had been a bag of coins to ease their way.

Pindar had been uncertain for a while whether he should not perhaps better remain in the rather peaceful, small but wealthy city on the border to Umbar. After all, as a bard he was nearly guaranteed to find a way of living, and he would not have to risk the havens of Umbar and the pirates. But in the end, his longing for home had won out.

He spent many hours of the day on the raft teaching Odysseus the language of the Haradrim. They discarded the raft entirely in the city of the Corsairs. It was of no more use to them.

The city was full of life, and full of people. Most of them Odysseus would prefer not to show his back to. There were others, too, of course: unfortunate beggars, colourful prostitutes and petty thieves. There were plenty of merchants, too, both poor and rich. There were plenty of slave traders, and it seemed that the best-selling human wares were strong men bought for the ships and pretty women for the beds.

The city stank of waste and trash; the water in the bay was brown and smelt ill. Achilles made a face at it. He, like Odysseus was used to the clear blue seas of the Aegean.

They found an affordable tavern that offered rooms for the night. Sleep turned out to be a rare gift, for the city was full of chaos and noise the entire night. Only when the sun rose, did it finally quiet down. The warriors soon realized that people went to bed at that time.

Odysseus finally got his long-desired rest, and he slept like the dead. Achilles had more difficulty. His thoughts were with his cousin. What if the army had not taken Patroclus to the capital, and they were following useless, empty hope? What if his cousin was already dead? And if not, what horrors was he living through?

Odysseus was snoring on the next bed over. Pindar lay curled up on his own cot. Achilles got up.

Downstairs, the tavern was nearly empty. A large woman was behind the counter. Achilles ignored the blatantly appreciative look she studied him with. He had already noticed that he, Odysseus and Pindar were considered to have exotic, and thus handsome, looks.

While he had listened to Pindar and Odysseus learn Haradrim, he could not pronounce the words as easily as Odysseus. He had learnt the word for “wine” though, and for “drink”, and it was enough to get him an entire jug of it. He thought the price might be a bit cheap, and when he took a sip, he grimaced. It was sour.

Besides himself and the woman, there was only one other person in the room. His skin was darker than that of most Corsairs, but quite like them, he wore his beard full and his hair long and unkempt. Some of it was somewhat tamed into small braids tied with beads. Across the bridge of his nose and cheek he bore a prominent scar, and on his muscular arms, left bare by a sleeveless tunic, Achilles could see other, smaller scars.

Seeing Achilles look at him—evidently he had been watching the warrior since he had come down—the man called for him and waved for the warrior to approach. He was nursing a tankard of ale.

“Do you speak my language?” Achilles asked as he came nearer. There was no sense in sharing a drink with a man he could not speak to.

After a moment of surprise, the man grinned. Some of his teeth glittered gold.

“Aye, stranger,” the man replied, with a heavy accent but understandable. “Sit. Join me at this forsaken hour. Only good men are awake at this time. Are you a good man?”

“I leave that to everyone to decide on their own,” Achilles replied.

The man laughed. “What are you doing here so far from home?”

Achilles knew by now that, for a Haradrim, this would have been a terribly direct and improper question. But the people in Umbar were different and Achilles doubted that this man was of Umbar or the Harad lands.

“I’m looking for my cousin. He was enslaved by the Haradrim army.”

“Ah! They’re currently crossing swords with Gondor. If they took your cousin, he won’t be with them anymore.”

“We were told he might have been taken to the capital.”

“A dangerous journey you are planning then.” The man put his elbows on the table and leant forward. “The war won’t be at the border forever. Gondor will come down to the king’s house and tear it down around his ears.” He laughed loudly.

“You are a friend of Gondor then?”

The man laughed again and spat on the floor. “Careful what you are implying, stranger. Umbar has fought against Gondor many times. The last time when the Great Sorcerer was still alive. There are no friends of Gondor here. But I’m realistic. Gondor won then by a hair, but they have become stronger. Anyone with some intelligence knows Harad is unlikely to win.”

“I don’t care who wins,” Achilles said. “I will free my cousin, war or not.”

“If he’s still alive,” the man replied, his smile never leaving his lips.

Achilles glared at him but the man waved it off.

“I was sold into slavery, too,” the man told him. “Eventually I came on a ship and I rose in the ranks. Now look at me! I’m captain of my own ship. Captain Black they call me. I’ve made some of the best captures on all the oceans. Even as far as your lands!”

The conversation was beginning to annoy Achilles. Captain Black seemed to notice.

“I see you will not stray from your path. A shame. I could use a strong arm like yours. But I will do you a favour. Sometimes I sell my wares to a trader called Machmad. He is currently in town. Afterwards he goes to Saharel, I believe. I’m sure he would pay for some extra protection. I will introduce you to him. Will you be available this afternoon? Nobody is awake before then! Like I said: only good men get up with the morning’s light, and good men are a rarity in Umbar.”

“I’m not alone. I have a companion.”

“Is he strong like you?”

“He is a warrior.”

“Good. I will come find you then.”

Black emptied his tankard. He set it down with a loud thud. He rose, said his farewells in his own language which might very well have meant “May the dogs not catch you”. Then he was gone.

Achilles drank half of his wine before he decided that he did not want to be poisoned by it, and went back upstairs.

Odysseus startled awake when Achilles shut the door. Pindar slept on obliviously.

Odysseus groaned when he saw the sun outside.

“It’s late.”

“Doesn’t matter. Nobody is awake in this place. Apparently, people only get up in the afternoon. I may have found a way to go north.”

He relayed the entire conversation to the Ithacan.

“Dubious,” Odysseus decided at the end. “But the best chance we have.”

Achilles snorted. “You mean the only one.”

Gesturing to the sleeping bard, he said:

“You will want to make sure he’s taken care of, right?”

Odysseus nodded. “Or at least try my best.”

 

Odysseus and Achilles only briefly ventured outside before returning to their inn. The city of the Corsairs was waking up and becoming more lively, and thus the hour of their meeting with Captain Black—if he had not changed his mind—was approaching. Pindar on the other hand left to go inquire about a ship sailing somewhere close to his home.

Captain Black came, although much later than the Greeks had expected. He studied Odysseus and nodded with a satisfied expression.

“Come,” he said, and the Greeks followed him.

They went to a loud, crowded market, where the goal seemed to be to advertise one’s wares louder than anyone else. They had been to many markets in Greece of course, but this was beyond what they had ever seen. The pirate captain seemed to have to search for his friend and trading partner. He knew many people at the market, and exchanged pleasantries with each of his acquaintances. Some of his conversations the Greeks could not understand, as he spoke neither Greek nor Haradrim.

At last the captain strode towards a man dressed comfortably and not too poorly, in black trousers, a white tunic, and a red jacket with gold stitching.

They greeted each other pleasantly, then the captain introduced them.

“My friend Machmad, these foreigners are looking to go north to the City of Harad. They can fight, and protect your caravan. I thought you might perhaps wish to hire them for your next journey. You are still going north, right?”

The trader studied the two. He did not seem displeased, nor immediately welcoming.

“I cannot say for certain yet. It depends on how safe the routes are. For the moment, I have hired a ship to sail to the mouth of the river of Harnen in the bay of Belfalas. Do you have any experience on ships?”

“We have sailed the seas many times,” Odysseus replied. He did not mention that the ships he and Achilles had commanded looked nothing like the ships they had seen so far in Umbar.

“As it happens, I am looking for men with fighting experience. You never know what can happen. But I will not leave until ten days from now. I will hire you until the mouth of the river Harnen. Then we will see.”

Achilles wanted to decline. He could not wait another ten days! But before he had even opened his mouth, Odysseus shook his head at him.

“Do you have any assurance that we will find a better offer?”

Achilles had to concede that they didn’t. Captain Black shrugged.

“You can always look for something else until the ship leaves. You won’t sign the contract until you board the vessel.”

It meant they would not get paid earlier either and they would have to live off something until they boarded the ship.

“A contract?” Achilles inquired.

“A piece of paper which states your duties and remuneration. It is signed by you and the one who hires you. If either of you do not keep to the written word, you can go to a judge, who will punish the one in the wrong.”

The idea of something like that was foreign to them. In Greece, agreements were discussed and agreed on orally.

“We agree,” Odysseus said to the merchant in Haradrim.

The merchant had evidently not sailed as far as Captain Black, for he had not understood their conversation in Greek.

“Well then. Tell me where you are staying, and I will send someone to fetch you when we leave.”

 

Pindar was happy for them when Odysseus told him of their success, but he was also disappointed that Odysseus at least had not changed his mind about going north.

The bard wanted to hear the music of Umbar, so he spent the night going from tavern to tavern with Odysseus and Achilles in tow. Accompanying him turned out to be a good idea. In the third tavern a fight broke out about the music played by a group of four bards. Those bards, however, were not as harmless as most of their profession, and one of the critics suddenly found himself gutted by the flute player.

This caused an outright brawl where no one was spared and Odysseus and Achilles—who seemed to actually enjoy it—had a hard time escaping with themselves and their own bard unharmed.

 

They kept an ear open for ways of getting to to Saharel sooner, but it seemed that most merchants were determined to avoid the area. And Odysseus would not stoop to hiring out his services to a corsair ship.

Pindar tried his hand at playing for the people of Umbar, and it went quite well for him. They found themselves no longer quite as strapped for coin. It turned out to be not only for their financial benefit: a ship owner declared that he liked the bard’s playing so much that he wanted to take Pindar with him on his next voyage. Pindar told him tales of Greece and the ship owner abruptly decided that this would be his next destination.

Odysseus, when he heard the story, was not convinced, and neither was Achilles.

“That man is no trader. He’s a pirate. He steals and takes his wares by force and sells them in Umbar.”

They did not feel at ease. Knowing this pirate was going to Greece meant knowing with near certainty that somewhere in the Aegean, perhaps even in their own realms, a village was going to be sacked and people were going to suffer.

Pindar’s happy expression faded.

“Perhaps I can have his word that he will not do that,” the bard tried.

Achilles snorted wordlessly. He did not need to say what he thought. It was doubtful whether the man would keep it.

Pindar sighed.

“Very well. I will look for another way.”

But until Machmad’s ship left port, none of the three found an alternative.

Pindar was determined to leave for Greece somehow and thus he did not follow Achilles and Odysseus on board.

Odysseus sent a short prayer to the gods that their friend would find his way home safely.


	5. Chapter 5

Odysseus and Achilles had worked on ships before. They did not believe in commanding others to do what they would not.

This ship was very different. The crew was a wild mix of nationalities, but none of them were from anywhere in Greece. Some of them worked solely for the ship owner, others for the merchant. They mingled some, but most of the duties on the ship were left to the sailors. The merchant’s men were tasked with protecting the wares. Odysseus was certainly glad that he would not have to climb the swaying mast.

He found it highly educational to speak to the crew and learn more about the lands around them and their way of life. This knowledge would likely benefit them in the future. He thought it would be best to adjust and blend in as much as possible.

The merchant did not interact with most of his men, except one dark-haired, broad-shouldered man named Kahim. Kahim was of average height, dressed similarly to those of Harad and came from a land called Khand. He acted as the merchant’s aid and was directly in charge of the carriers and guards.

The goods they carried were no secret: salt, spices, silver, gems and minerals were in their cargo, and none of it was to be touched by anyone.

The mouth of the River Harnen was not far. They sailed a night and two days, and only that long because the wind was sluggish. The air was cool and moist at sea, which was at least somewhat different from the hot and dry air inland.

They made port in a city called Port Harondor. The merchant left the ship to go about his business. In the meantime, Machmad’s servants were allowed to stretch their legs on land again, although they were not to go far from the ship. Machmad returned not much later. His expression did not give away whether what he had learnt was good or bad for his business. Kahim and he spoke for a moment, then Kahim gathered the group of hired men around him.

“We’re moving on to Harad City,” he told them, using the other name for Saharel. “Any complaints?”

Everyone shook their head.

“Good. I have your contracts here. Sign them to renew them until Harad City.”

The carriers took the cargo off the ship, and the guards helped the animals on land. The goods would mostly be carried by seven donkeys. The merchant rode an exceptionally beautiful, black stallion. The steed was friendly towards its rider and most of its caretakers. But it had fire in its veins, and Achilles could tell it was a great runner. Those the horse did not like, however, it bit and kicked at fiercely. Its saddle was of fine, dark red leather, and the bridle softer than any Odysseus had seen before.

The carriers had to shoulder the goods that were not carried by the donkeys and were in charge of moving and caring for the animals themselves. The rest of the men—the guards—walked, including Kahim.

They followed the River Harnen upwards. This had several advantages: they would not lose their way, as it flowed directly through Saharel where they were heading; they would always have water; and there were plenty of larger and smaller towns along the way where they could stay.

Machmad knew the route and when each of those towns held a market. They were in time for each of them. Most of the guards were not required in town, with only two or three guarding the merchandise from thieves. It seemed to Odysseus that Machmad profited quite well from his profession.

He was no bad employer either. He treated his employees well and paid for good accommodation for them all. They would not receive their pay until the end of the journey, but Machmad handed out a small allowance which they were free to spend however they liked.

Much to Achilles’ dislike and despair, travel was slow because the caravan stopped in many towns, often for two to three days. The guards did not have much to do. The group of hired men, six carriers and eight guards often kept each other company over some spiced wine in taverns, excluding Kahim, when he had business with Machmad.

“Do you think we will even get to Saharel?” Omil, a guard, asked the rest one evening.

Sargon, one of their companions, shrugged. “This isn’t my first trip with Machmad. He’s not afraid of taking risks, generally. But a war? That’s different. If they’re still fighting in Ithilien and the border, then we’re unlikely to see anyone. But if not...”

“So we won’t turn back before reaching Harad City at least?” Achilles asked.

Sargon shrugged again. “I really couldn’t say.”

 

The next night they spent in a different town, and Kahim joined them in their nightly drinking at the tavern. He didn’t look pleased.

“There are rumours. They say that the army of Harad has been defeated and driven apart. The next part of our journey may not be as easy as the last. But our destination remains Saharel.”

The others nodded. They would simply have to be more on their guard.

 

They heard the same rumours in the next town and more besides: Gondor’s army was in pursuit.

Machmad started to look concerned. And yet they were still a fortnight away from Saharel, more because they would stop at markets on their way.

 

Odysseus had been unsure so far whether he should speak frankly to Machmad, but ultimately decided to approach him.

“My companion and I need to reach Saharel somehow. If you decide not to go there, we must take our leave.”

“I have not decided yet what we will do. I thank you for being honest. I will let you know our plans once I have made them.”

Machmad touched the tips of his hand to his chest and inclined his head in the region’s sign of farewell, which Odysseus copied. Two days later, they were on their way again.

Kahim had become more vigilant than before. Whenever they rested, the man kept an eye on their surroundings and this time was no different. They were resting in a copse of trees at the banks of the river, which was so small it might have been called a spring. Kahim returned from his habitual look-out with a warning:

“Keep your weapons close.”

“Somebody coming?” Sargon asked.

The guards shook off the weariness caused by the great heat.

“How many?” Odysseus demanded.

“I don’t know yet,” Kahim replied. “But I saw crows in the distance, flying up into the sky because they were disturbed by someone who is heading towards us. They would not fly off because of a small caravan. I’m going back to keep watch.”

“I can do it,” Omil offered.

“My thanks. Go.”

“The animals, goods and those who cannot wield weapons go into the middle, with the others surrounding them to protect them until we know it is safe.”

Not all of the carriers were unarmed: three of them owned wicked-looking long knives, and one had a slingshot. Machmad also carried a sword; the blade was longer than a Greek sword and more curved, the hilt was decorated generously with vines cut into the metal and a single gem was placed prominently just above the blade into the hilt. Odysseus had noticed it before, and had not yet made up his mind whether this blade was of any use in battle or more suited to be a decorative weapon.

Machmad took his place with his wares and his prized stallion in the centre of the circle. Everyone kept their weapons close. Drawing them and standing ready for battle was unnecessary while whoever was approaching was still so far away and might in fact turn out to be peaceful travellers. Kahim had gone to join Omil after all, as someone might need to take a message to the caravan while the other continued observing.

“A group of twenty,” Omil reported once it was time. “They look like Harad soldiers.”

Machmad was no less concerned.

“If the army has been defeated this group fled or deserted, they may be desperate. And desperate people are dangerous. Kahim will hold them off and speak to them,” the merchant said.

From their camp the caravan could see Machmad’s second standing just outside the copse of trees, waiting for the group. If they were enemies, they would at least not be able to dispatch Kahim quietly without their noticing.

They arrived and spoke with Kahim, all the while noticing the rest of the caravan and their readiness. Their words did not carry, but it did not look as if Kahim was about to draw his sword. Nevertheless, his hand rested steadily on the hilt. The soldiers were hard to assess. They wore the traditional headscarves that covered everything but their eyes. Odysseus could see no injured amongst them, so he assumed that they had deserted. Odysseus was a warrior; there was little he disliked more than cowardice.

Kahim and the soldiers seemed to come to an agreement and the warrior returned.

“They ask permission to rest here and promise not to break the peace.”

Machmad seemed to give that promise as much weight as Odysseus. He frowned heavily, but nodded.

“We have no right to deny them their rest here. However, we remain vigilant.”

Kahim beckoned the soldiers to come. It was clear, although unspoken, that the caravan would leave as soon as the animals were rested enough. They left soon after, and Kahim gave Odysseus and Achilles the rear to guard. An attack never came.

But like Kahim, Odysseus was familiar with bird signs, and he trusted his feeling. Achilles, too, remained suspicious. With a nod to Odysseus he confirmed that he had also seen the crows, again giving away their followers. The deserters never came close enough to be spied with the naked eye. Nevertheless Odysseus alerted Kahim and Machmad.

“They likely know that the only place we can spend the night is a merchant’s home. There is no town around. If they are clever or desperate enough, they will attack it,” Kahim explained.

Odysseus nodded in understanding.

“More loot for them, including more food, which they need. How well secured is this home?”

“Rather well, last I saw it.”

“Let’s hope it’s good enough,” Odysseus muttered more to himself than Kahim.

He returned to his position at the back.

The caravan arrived some time before dusk, as they had cut their noon break short due to the deserters. The merchant’s house was enclosed by a wall nearly as tall as three men, which was quite impressive, Odysseus thought. Perhaps it had once been the home of a noble. He and Achilles walked along this wall to assess its soundness. Kahim awaited them at the gate, looking happier than earlier that day.

“What do you think?” He asked them, correctly deducing their purpose. “Ephai, the owner, is a wealthy man and suspicious. No one can hope to break this wall without Mumakil or some other wall-breakers!”

“You’re right, they cannot come through it, so they will try to climb it,” Odysseus replied.

“It is too high,” Kahim objected.

“There are trees along the river. With the right equipment, they can build a ladder. But they won’t even need to do that, if they have eyes.” Wordlessly, Odysseus pointed to a single tree growing close to the northern wall higher than the ramparts.

“It can be climbed?” Kahim asked.

Odysseus nodded. “Achilles and I just tested it. Anyone capable can climb the tree and jump onto the walkway. Then all they need to do is open the gate for their companions.”

If Troy had been that easy to take, the Greeks would not have needed to camp out on the beach in front of the city for years.

Kahim made a thoughtful sound.

“We could fell the tree...”

“That would not take care of their other option of building ladders,” Odysseus replied.

Kahim turned grim. “Then I suppose we must risk it and fight.”

“Surely the owner has weapons and men who know how to use them?”

“He does. Fifteen who know how to wield a weapon.”

“Then we are in the majority. Do we have any archers among them?”

Kahim grinned. “I’ll ask him.”

 

They pretended to go to sleep as if they had no idea of the danger nearby, and put out fires and candles until the mansion lay in utter darkness. In fact, they stood ready and waiting.

They positioned the archers along the walkway, next to the crenels, but out of sight. The others were either downstairs in the courtyard or on the walkway with the archers in case the former soldiers did succeed in crossing the wall.

Odysseus had asked for a spare bow, which he received, and Achilles had followed his example. Unlike Odysseus, Achilles did not count the bow among his usual weapons, but he knew how to use one, and was as accurate with it as with a spear. The two Greek warriors had placed themselves near the tree, where the attack was most likely to occur.

They had assumed that the men would attack as soon as they thought everyone in the house asleep. They were right, and after some time had passed, Achilles’ fine hearing picked up a small noise: the scuffing of a boot on the tree’s bark. He made eye contact with Odysseus and indicated the area with his head. The Ithacan nodded. The nights in this country were darker than he was used to. Nevertheless, he was able to pick out a dark shape climbing the tree. Odysseus took the shot. It was not brilliant, but it was enough. The man cried out in pain and fell. Only then did Odysseus realize that a second man came right after him. Achilles aimed and shot the man in the neck such that this one did not even have the ability to scream. Angry cries and yelling from below followed.

Suddenly, a flaming ball landed right between Odysseus and Achilles.

“They’ve got fire!” Kahim cried out to warn the others.

Luckily, the ramparts were covered with stone and did not catch fire. Odysseus swiftly kicked the fire to the ground, where it eventually smouldered out in the sand. One of the servants leant over the wall to see them, only to tumble back with an arrow in his chest. Odysseus cursed. Achilles dared to look over the ramparts anyway, but he was quick enough to pull his head back.

“Watch out for their archers!” Odysseus called to their own.

“Now what?” Achilles asked. “They know they cannot come in, but they’re angry...”

Just then, a man shouted from the front gate. Being so far away, Odysseus did not catch it. But Kahim called something back. They exchanged some words, neither sounding particularly friendly. At last, Kahim turned to those inside the walls and called out instructions.

“A temporary peace,” Odysseus said. “While they discuss the terms.”

“Terms?” Achilles echoed. “What could they possibly threaten us with?”

“You stay and keep an eye out,” Odysseus replied and climbed down from the walkway to join Kahim on his way to Machmad and Ephai.

“They threaten to lay siege to this house if we do not give in to their demands,” Kahim said.

“They were incapable of laying siege to Minas Tirith so they threaten merchants instead?” Ephai demanded. “They should be put down like the dogs they are!”

Odysseus, standing off to the side, silently agreed.

“What do you say?” Machmad asked Odysseus and Kahim.

“They have archers. If we don’t want to risk our men, we cannot set a single foot out the door,” Kahim said. “And they can pick us off the walls.”

Odysseus nodded to himself, remembering Troy all too well.

“If they are clever,” the Ithacan said, “they will set a watch on all four sides of our wall. How long can we hold out here? We have water from the spring, but what about food?”

“We won’t run out anytime soon,” Ephai replied. “I cannot say exactly, but if I rationed the food, we could hold out a month, longer even if we killed the animals. What does that worthless get demand?”

“Two thousand gold coins and twenty animals for slaughter.”

“Ridiculous,” Ephai replied.

“Of course we mustn’t give in,” Machmad agreed.

“How long do we have to think about it?” Odysseus inquired.

“Until dawn. If we do not reply, they threatened to fire flaming arrows at the house and burn it all down.”

“It’s still darkest of night. Achilles and I will check if they have indeed put guards on our walls. If we can attack them from both above and on the ground, we can defeat them.”

“We’re not warriors like you are. Few of our people are,” Kahim cautioned.

Odysseus nodded. He had nearly forgotten that.

“I will think of something. Allow me to speak to my companion and discuss the situation.”

The merchants nodded, and Odysseus went back to Achilles. Kahim followed. The Ithacan briefed the other warrior.

“The two of us could risk climbing down. But we would need reliable men to cover us from up here at the risk of their own lives. Are there any willing to do that?” Achilles asked.

“We can at least ask,” Odysseus replied. He relayed their conversation to Kahim. The man nodded and left.

Achilles, in the meantime, walked along the walkway. When he returned, he shook his head scornfully.

“They have not set any guards.”

“Are you certain?”

Achilles frowned. “Do you not trust my eyes?” He nearly snapped.

“Were we in Greece you know I would within a heartbeat, brother. The nights here are different.”

“They are not,” the warrior disagreed.

Odysseus did not argue. Kahim returned with five men in tow; four of them were from their own caravan. Kahim also carried rope, which he handed to Achilles. The Myrmidon secured it on one end and threw the other over the wall.

“Keep an eye out. It should not seem too strange that we continue to be watchful, but do not raise suspicions. Do not look for us, you will not see us until we strike. Understood?”

The men nodded. Odysseus swung himself across the wall after Achilles. Achilles quickly reached the ground. Odysseus had more difficulty. He was getting old, he thought. Once he was back in Ithaca with his wife Penelope, he vowed he would never leave again. He supposed that Agamemnon, at least, would never bother him again.

Achilles and he sneaked along the wall. Bushes covered them, some as high as a man, and thus they approached the enemy unnoticed. They watched the camp for a while. The men spoke, but some of it was inaudible, the rest irrelevant.

Two broke away from the group. Achilles’ predatory eyes immediately picked them out as their first victims. A glance was enough to understand each other. It was best to remain unseen for as long as possible. The two men passed not far from where they were hidden, so they did not have to walk far to come up behind them. Their knives did short work of the guards. They dragged the bodies into some bushes and left them there. Then they returned to the main camp.

Sixteen deserters were left and they were arguing amongst each other: five of them were standing together and fighting about how to proceed. Apparently, not everyone was convinced that their siege would succeed. Achilles lifted his bow. Odysseus did the same. He hoped that the men on the wall would aid them, and even if they did not, Achilles had killed more in a single battle. Achilles released the arrow, and chaos followed.

The deserters were confused at first. It was enough for Odysseus to fell two more men, while Achilles immediately dropped his bow and jumped right into the middle of the camp, where his blade killed another two men before the rest of them had regained their wits.

An arrow from the wall missed, but the next was aimed better. Odysseus fought as he had last fought in Troy, while Achilles was in front of him like a storm passing over the ocean. The blond warrior was nearly hit by one of their own arrows; it missed him by a hair’s breadth. Thankfully, the warrior was too busy to send more than a glare up the wall, then he was on the last deserters.

 

When the sun rose, blood soaked the earth and Achilles and Odysseus sat inside the house, cleaning their blades and drinking the best wine they had had in ages, courtesy of Ephai. The rest of the guards were too anxious to go to sleep.

“So, you have a lot of experience with sieges,” Sargon remarked.

Odysseus smiled a little. “Except that last time, I was the one carrying out the siege.”

“Did you succeed?”

“We laid siege to the city for many years, but could not overcome the walls.”

“Who were you fighting for? Was it a great king or sorcerer?”

Odysseus and Achilles exchanged looks. “We fought for ourselves.”

Kahim looked at them differently then, cleverer than the rest in deducing things unsaid.

“What was the war about?” The youngest in the group asked.

“A woman,” Achilles replied dryly.

The others gaped. “Now you are jesting with us.”

“No. A king’s wife left her husband for another man, so the king declared war,” Achilles said, amused. He had never considered Helen a good reason to fight a war; he had fought for glory.

“She was considered to be the most beautiful woman in the known world,” Odysseus put in.

Kahim chuckled. “Sounds as if you’ve never seen an elf.”

“An elf? No. Who are they?”

“A people who mostly dwell north of Gondor. Gondor’s queen is an elf; her name is Arwen and she is considered to be easily the most beautiful woman of all. The King of Gondor also made his elven war-brother, Legolas, Prince of Ithilien together with Faramir, his Steward. The elven prince is said to have brought some of his people from the far north, but none live further south than Ithilien. I have not seen many elves myself. In Dol Amroth I once saw two, who were travelling. Elves are immortal, and some consider them better than humans. They are faster in battle and harder to kill.”

“But they can be killed?” Achilles asked, utterly fascinated.

Kahim nodded. “Yes, they can be killed.”

“The King of Gondor is human?” Odysseus inquired.

Kahim nodded again.

“How did he conquer his queen?”

“It is said that Elessar grew up among elves, and that she was the daughter of his foster-father, but that they did not see each other until years later. They loved each other, and it is said that she forsook her immortality to be with him. There are few marriages between the different races.”

“So there are different peoples up in the north?”

“Aye, although I have not been that far, and I have not met any except those elves in Dol Amroth, and a dwarven smith there at another time. Lately there has been much talk about Hobbits or Halflings, but I know nothing about them.”

“They sound like interesting lands,” Odysseus remarked.

“They are said to be treacherous, too,” Omil warned him.

“It’s late—or early, rather. Machmad wants to leave in two days. We are already staying here longer than we planned. Everyone go to sleep.”


	6. Chapter 6

Six days later, the caravan was in another town. Machmad was at the market, while Odysseus and Kahim were gathering news about the road ahead. To their surprise, Saharel had been conquered by Gondor, and that without any siege. The eldest princess of Saharel had surrendered the country after her father had committed suicide, her two older brothers having left for war. The sorcerer, who had claimed that victory would be Harad’s, was on the run.

Yet the roads were said to be safe, and when Machmad heard about the most recent turn of events, he decided that they would be going all the way to Saharel. With the army of Gondor in the capital, chances were that demand would be even higher than usual.

It seemed risky to Odysseus, but Saharel was where he and Achilles needed to go—there was no way around it. But now that the city was close, he wondered how they were supposed to find Patroclus. He started by asking Kahim about the slave markets.

“Usually there are three notable ones in Saharel, and plenty of small, unofficial ones besides. But with Gondor there, we will have to see. Gondor does not support slavery. They might have banned it even.”

“I see,” Odysseus said. That could be to their advantage, but only if the black markets, which would be difficult to find, did not thrive instead.

 

Saharel was the strangest place Odysseus had ever seen. Although he should have been prepared by the previous villages and cities, Saharel surprised him once again with its contrast to what he had seen in Greece and Troy. Its architecture was so very different from anything he knew. A wall surrounded Saharel, which was even thicker than Troy’s and which glittered in the sunlight like a thousand gemstones. To his surprise, it appeared undamaged.

His first impressions of Gondorians were the sentinels: tall, dark-haired men with serious expressions guarded the gates. Their dress was very different from the army of Harad, and somewhat unsuited to the local climate as well. They wore pointed helmets, and their tunics displayed a white tree crowned by stars. A flag with the same image flew high above their heads from the largest building in the city, the palace.

Machmad, Kahim and the others guarded the caravan carefully. Gondor’s soldiers permitted them entry quite easily, which made Odysseus wonder whether they were very careless or very confident. Strangely enough, life in Saharel seemed to have been hardly impacted by the occupation. Gondor’s king had refrained from oppressing the people. The markets flourished.

The caravan came to a halt in what was to be their home in Saharel, and Machmad quickly left with his servants and two guards to set up his stall. He was already late, and his customers had been waiting for him. Once the stall was set up, three men remained at the market with Machmad, while the rest of the men were free to do their wont. Kahim had Achilles and Odysseus stay with him. During their stay in Saharel, they were living in a house of a friend of Machmad’s, a wealthy owner of a vineyard. He usually lived outside the city and regularly offered his large town-villa to Machmad and his entourage to stay in. A small group of servants took care of the guests’ comfort.

Achilles was impatient, as he was often now, more so even than before if that was possible. Odysseus, however, had a feeling that Kahim had a plan. Indeed the man came to them just as the servants were serving tea again.

“I spoke to the servants here. It is as we suspected, Gondor has forbidden the sale of slaves. There are rumours that they plan to free all slaves, but are uncertain of how much resistance they would meet. There is talk of some ten black markets, but Chakram, who is the head of the servants, told me that we should ask at the palace first. He says that most, if not all slaves from the war remained in the possession of the palace and high-ranking soldiers. It is a good place to start. And as it happens, Prince Faramir of Ithilien, Gondor’s steward, holds audiences today. The wait would be long, but it is worth a try.”

The blond warrior rose immediately.

“Then let’s go,” he said.

Kahim and Odysseus followed. Achilles did not need directions to the palace despite the fact that the city was utterly foreign to him. The palace oversaw all other buildings in Saharel.

It did not take them long to find the appropriate entrance, for the line was indeed long. Odysseus grimaced.

“Kahim,” he said to the warrior, “you need not wait with us. This is our affair.”

“That may well be, but you need me. You do not speak the Common Tongue that is spoken here in Saharel, but most importantly in Gondor and the lands in the north. And no offence, my friend, but your Haradrim is by no means perfect either. The dialect spoken here is much different from what is spoken on the coast. You and your friend saved our lives. This is the least I can do for you, even if Machmad had not asked me to help you.”

Odysseus had in fact forgotten that there might be another language barrier.

Thankfully, they were waiting in the shade of the courtyard and did not have to endure the sun that still burned down steadily.

The line moved forward, sometimes more quickly, sometimes less. A few administrative officials moved down the line to hear the people’s issues and decide whether the prince needed to hear them. Odysseus found this a quite sensible practice, for some minor, if not irrelevant, issues were weeded out ahead of time.

At last it was their turn to speak to the officials. They worked in pairs, one of them dark-skinned and dressed in the local attire, the other paler and clearly from Gondor.

Kahim spoke for them: “We are looking for slaves taken from the south by Harad’s armies some months ago.”

The officials whispered some to each other. The Gondorian eyed them closely.

“You can stay in line, but we will inquire with the major domo. He may know more about this than Prince Faramir.”

They left immediately and disappeared into the palace.

“I think you will still get your audience with the Gondorian,” Kahim whispered to Odysseus. “Gondor will decide the fate of any foreign slaves, if it has not already been decided by someone else and they are dead.”

The sun was about to set when they were finally given their audience, and the officials had not reappeared.

The Gondorian was sitting on a beautifully decorated chair reserved for the queen of Harad, which was situated below the throne itself. For the time being, Gondor made use of it, and the queen’s seat was the next best thing for the steward, for he refused to sit on the king’s throne. Prince Faramir was a tall, pale-skinned man with black hair that fell to his shoulders. He wore no armour, and his face told of a warm, soft manner, but steel beneath that if required. The first thing Odysseus did was to do away with the headscarf. He wanted the Gondorian to see that they were foreigners, and thus perhaps appeal to his desire to help fellow strangers. Achilles followed his lead.

“The Steward of Gondor and Prince of Ithilien, Faramir, son of Denethor,” another official announced. “Present yourself.”

Achilles and Odysseus exchanged a brief glance.

“I’m Odysseus, king of Ithaca, an island far in the south and the west from here. This is my companion, Achilles, Lord of the Myrmidons, also a land far away. We have come here because nearly three cycles of the moon ago now, our warriors were attacked by the army of Harad, who were at the time unknown and foreign to us. My companion’s cousin was taken away together with many others. We’ve come a long way to find him and faced many dangers along the way. We’re here today because this is where we were led, and we humbly ask for Gondor’s help.”

Kahim stumbled some in surprise over their titles, but he relayed their message nonetheless.

Prince Faramir measured them closely, his eyes those of a man who saw others clearly for what they were. The Greeks did not flinch; Odysseus felt more confident even than before.

“You will forgive me if I do not take your word easily. But Gondor will help you, if it can, regardless of who you are, for we value justice and abhor slavery. I have already been informed that my officials are working to gather all foreign slaves brought into the palace in the past months, but it seems to be taking them longer than they thought. Once they are done, they will come to me to report, so I’m afraid I can suggest little else but that you wait a little more.” Beckoning to a servant, he ordered: “Have something to drink brought for our guests.” And turning back to them he said: “You may wait here. I regret that I cannot turn my full attention to you, but there are more petitioners, and I would not wish to make them wait needlessly.”

“We understand and are grateful for your help, Prince Faramir,” Odysseus replied.

It did not take overly long, thankfully. Odysseus took the opportunity to observe the prince, and found that he liked his manner. His first impression had not been wrong, and he found himself admiring the man for his gentle wisdom. The two officials from before arrived in the middle of an audience, and they led the Greeks and Kahim further into the palace without interrupting the audience.

They had not come far when they heard raised voices—and one of them sounded quite familiar. Odysseus halted, the others doing the same when they realized that he was no longer following them. The Ithacan veered off into a different corridor where the voices were coming from. Quickly, they could make out words, and it was evident from that and their voices that there was an argument going on. The Haradrim official grimaced. They rounded the corner, unnoticed by the quarrelling trio. Two of them were Haradrim, the third—he needed a moment to process the clothes and the painted face, but it was indeed him: Paris, the prince of Troy.

Or rather, former prince. How far Paris, the thief, had fallen!

Two Haradrim had shoved him up against a wall and were crowding him. The former prince did not raise his hands in defence and his expression was nearly blank. A hint of defiance Odysseus could see, but evidently Paris did not hope for rescue or escape.

“Stop!” Odysseus bellowed and the Haradrim swung around, just as Kahim reached them, threw off one roughly, then the other.

The Ithacan gave Paris a short nod, noting the widened, kohl-highlighted eyes.

“He was defying us!” One of the Haradrim protested.

The officials did not look amused. “He is following orders! We demanded that _all_ foreign slaves captured in the last four moons gather in the servants’ hall!” The Haradrim official said. Odysseus ignored him, satisfied that the business was in good hands. Instead, he faced Paris, and they studied each other, seeing how they had changed since the last time they had caught sight of each other.

“King Odysseus,” Paris greeted.

“Paris,” the Ithacan replied, not without reason foregoing the younger man’s title.

But before they could continue their conversation, one of the officials spoke up.

“I’m sorry for this incident. Do you still wish to see the rest of the slaves?”

“Yes,” Odysseus replied. “We weren’t looking for him, but he is proof that we are on the right track.”

Achilles completely ignored the boy. The Haradrim attackers were sent off with what was evidently a slap on the wrist, and they continued. The servants’ hall was where the slaves ate and slept. During the day, the slaves were at work and doing their duty, so it was empty and all foreign slaves had been called to it. Achilles pushed to the front of their group and looked at them all, only to slump with disappointment.

“He’s not here.”

Odysseus recognized none of the faces. He thought that some of the slaves in front of him could be from Troy, but none were of importance, else he would recognize them. And even they seemed to be a minority. There were many others who looked foreign, but not like anyone from the Aegean.

“I wish to speak to Paris,” Odysseus said. There was still hope. Paris was now their lead.

The officials nodded their permission. Paris seemed surprised.

“Is there some place where we might talk? A garden perhaps?” The Ithacan enquired.

The look Paris bestowed on him was guarded but he nodded.

“Find out whether the officials can do anything else for us,” Odysseus told Kahim and Achilles. Then he waved at Paris to lead the way.

Odysseus walked next to his former enemy. It gave him a better chance to read the former prince’s expressions. But it seemed that they had changed during his captivity, for he wore a nearly unchanging, stony face which Odysseus had never noticed before and believed the prince of Troy had not had previously.

"There are no more Greek or Trojan captives still alive here in the palace,” Paris said.

Odysseus’ suspicion was confirmed then. The chances of finding another Trojan were greater than finding a Greek, as those besieging Troy had been warriors. They would have fought to their deaths; in Troy, however, there had been women, children, and youths more easily controlled and thus better material for slaves. The Greeks would have enslaved them just the same. Paris was lucky to be alive—or unlucky, whichever way one looked at it.

“How did you escape the slaughter in Troy?” Odysseus asked.

“In the Trojan palace there was a secret passage for the royal family to escape. Hector told me to take it with anyone I could gather in our hurry. We walked right into their arms. There were too many of them to escape.”

The former prince recounted the tale as emotionlessly as if it had happened to someone he did not know. Odysseus waited in case Paris added something else. When he didn’t, he asked:

“What about Prince Hector?”

“I last saw him in Troy.”

Paris gave him a glance, nearly hopeful that Odysseus knew whether his brother was still alive, but it disappeared as quickly as everything else before. The Ithacan could not have told him anyway. He did not know whether Hector was still alive, doubted it even.

They exited the palace through a richly decorated door and found themselves in a garden inside a courtyard. In the middle of the desert it was a wonder to behold. Still, the foreign greenery made Odysseus ache for Ithaca in spring. He gave a small sigh.

“This garden was the Queen’s,” Paris explained. “Now that the king is dead and his family occupies another wing, no one uses it.”

“It’s beautiful,” Odysseus said.

Paris didn’t seem inclined to agree. Not far from where they were standing, Odysseus could see some wicker divans. The pillows looked soft and perfect for taking some rest.

Paris remained standing for an awkward moment until the king pointed at a divan opposite him and said: “Sit.”

He didn’t mean to make Paris stew but the sun on his face was a joy; he closed his eyes and made no attempt to start conversation.

“Why are you here?” The Trojan asked, no, demanded. He sounded tired.

“Would you rest easier if I said that it’s not because of you?”

Paris snorted. “I’d be surprised if you’d come all this way for me.”

“Achilles has been pursuing the Haradrim since the attack. He is looking for his cousin, Patroclus. You said that there were no other Trojan or Greek slaves alive. Does this mean that there were some in the past?”

“Some few. Five perhaps, but only one was a warrior. They were sold because the palace needed finances for the war.”

“They did not sell you.”

“I was useful. They found that I picked up their language and writing quickly.”

“That warrior who was among those sold: was he Greek?”

Paris’ forehead was drawn. “Yes. He was young, younger than me, blond like Achilles...”

Without thinking, Odysseus reached over and grabbed the former prince by the shoulders.

“Tell me! Tell me all you know about him and where he went!”

“Let me think!” Paris cried out, jerking out of the Ithacan’s nearly brutal grasp. He was breathing heavily and trembling, and Odysseus forced himself to retreat. He would not get anything useful like this.

“He was recovering from an injury when I first saw him. He was defiant. The palace was no place for him, but there was an old, former ambassador who was amused by him. Khel— someone said that he reminded the old man of his own son, who died in a great war against Gondor some years ago.”

“Who is that ambassador? What’s his name? Where can we find him?”

“I think his name is Aluhen Nur. He was the ambassador of Khand. I know he was one of the few to remain in Saharel during the war.”

Their conversation was interrupted then by a new arrival in the garden. Paris rose smoothly, his eyes lowered to the ground, making Odysseus briefly wonder how long his captors had needed to beat him into submission. The Ithacan rose as well, but met the newcomer’s eyes frankly. He was tall with bright, keen eyes, shoulder-length brown hair and wore elegant clothing in black and silver. Paris bowed deeply. Evidently, the man was important.

“Good evening. I don’t believe I have ever seen you before,” the man said to Odysseus. His Haradrim was quite good, and he spoke clearly and slowly enough for Odysseus to understand, but he was clearly Gondorian.

“I’m a foreigner here in search of a friend who was enslaved some months ago.”

The Gondorian frowned. It seemed to be a common expression when slavery was mentioned.

“Have you found him?”

“Not yet,” Odysseus admitted. His tone left no doubt that he did not intend to give up the search.

“When and where did it happen? You mentioned some months ago?”

“I did. The Haradrim army travelled south-west, where they came upon us unaware, three cycles of the moon ago. We were utterly defeated, for they had Mumakil, which do not exist in our lands.”

“That must have been shortly before they attacked Gondor, if not at the same time,” the man mused thoughtfully. “A common man would not travel so far in search of one person.”

“To be truthful, the man we are looking for is the cousin of my brother-in-arms, Achilles. He is a formidable warrior. As for me, I am king of the island Ithaca; it may be small, but it meant something were we are from. And this,” he indicated Paris, “is Paris, Prince of Troy.”

“Former prince,” the Trojan corrected.

It said much that Paris denied even his title.

“How long have you been a captive?” the man asked.

“Nearly a year.”

“You have suffered much then. But tell me, for I am curious: you are not friends.”

They exchanged looks, and with a small shrug, Paris indicated that the decision was Odysseus’ to make.

“We were enemies, but it means nothing now. I and others besieged his city, for an injustice on Prince Paris’ part.”

The Trojan frowned heavily in disagreement, but Odysseus did not give him the opportunity to speak up.

“It matters nothing now, for his city has been razed, and both of our armies and people have, for the most part, been slaughtered.”

“It sounds like a grievous tale. I do not know how to help you, King Odysseus, in finding the man you are searching for. But if there is anything Gondor can do to support you, we will. Nor do I know how to help you, Prince Paris, to return to your country; but say the word and you may return with us to Gondor where you would live as a free man. Either of you may speak to me or to Prince Faramir, my Steward, at any time. And if you know of any others of your people held as a slave here, my offer extends to them as well.”

Surprised, Paris looked up. When he saw that the man was serious, he swallowed.

“Thank you. That... would indeed put an end to my suffering. I will think on it.”

Odysseus bowed. “I thank you for your offer. You call Prince Faramir your Steward. Am I correct in assuming that you are King Elessar of Gondor then?”

Elessar smiled. “You are correct. As I said, do not hesitate to speak to me if you have need of something. Have you accommodations in the city?”

“We do,” Odysseus replied. “They are more than enough for us.”

“Then you will not need my aid there. I apologize, but my Steward awaits me.”

The King bade them farewell and moved on.

“He’s said to be very good king,” Paris remarked, looking after him.

Odysseus wanted to agree. A thought that had been lingering in the back of his mind since telling King Elessar of the war came to him then:

“Where’s Helen?”

“Dead,” Paris replied expressionlessly. “If I had not brought her to Troy, she would still be ali-”

“That doesn’t help anyone now!” Odysseus cut him off harshly. “Menelaus and Agamemnon are both dead. But they have heirs, and the shame remains. I suggest you accept King Elessar’s offer and go to Gondor.”

Paris nodded once mutely. Odysseus was angry. He had courted Helen once himself. She had been a fool to follow the young prince to Troy, but she had not deserved such an ending. Odysseus did not want to think on it.

“We are done here,” he declared firmly. “I need to find Aluhen Nur.”

He rose, meaning to leave the garden and leave Paris forever behind. But at last he turned back and said:

“Good luck.” And he actually meant it.


	7. Chapter 7

Aluhen Nur, the former ambassador of Khand, was well-known for grand, expensive parties with the best belly-dancers coin could buy and fights between warriors for his guests’ entertainment—although never to the death.

He had a wife, several concubines and nine children remaining, of which six were boys. He was considered to be a fair main who enjoyed life. When war had broken out between Gondor and Harad, he had sent his wife, concubines and children home to Khand, as they were in less danger to become victims of battle there than in Saharel. In this, Nur had been right.

He himself had remained in the city, although he was probably regretting that now.

Achilles stood threateningly in his great hall, one hand on his sword and steadily glowering at the man. Nur was good in that he tried to hide his nervousness, but he was not quite successful and Odysseus knew better.

“Where are your slaves?” Odysseus demanded.

Nur glanced from Odysseus to Achilles, and he seemed to realize that there was a similarity between Achilles and Patroclus—at least Odysseus hoped it was that.

“I believe I know who you look for; he is at work in the garden,” Nur replied.

“Lead us,” Odysseus commanded, giving Achilles a gesture to back off.

Nur obeyed. He led them quickly through the house and into a garden, which was enclosed by high walls on all sides. It looked not much different from the palace garden, although on a smaller scale. This either said something about the type of gardens in Saharel, or about Aluhen Nur’s wealth.

A burly man approached them, alarm written on his face, holding a thick, short staff in his hand—the overseer of the slaves. Achilles immediately held his blade against Nur’s throat again, so closely in fact, that if Nur even twitched, the skin of his throat would part against the sharp edge of the sword.

“Drop the stick,” Odysseus ordered.

The overseer looked sour and torn, but he followed their orders after an instant of consideration.

The Ithacan took the staff and forced the overseer to come with them. It was better than having the man escape and possibly gather help from neighbours or who knew where.

They did not have to go far. They passed a high bush and suddenly, he was there: Patroclus.

“Patroclus!” Achilles shouted.

The boy’s head jerked up, and then Achilles was already next to him and threw his arms around him.

“Achilles!” Patroclus cried out with joy.

He was thinner and more sinewy than he had been before, Odysseus noted. He wore loose clothing that was neither too fine nor too coarse. It seemed that Nur took at least some care with his slaves.

“We’re leaving,” Achilles declared. Not even glancing at Nur or the slave overseer—who did indeed look as if he wanted to object—he hauled Patroclus up against his body and marched with him past the two who had been in charge of the last months of his cousin’s captivity.

“I suggest you talk to King Elessar, if you have a problem with us leaving,” Odysseus said to them.

Then he followed Achilles and Patroclus, careful to watch their backs. But Nur and the overseer only looked angry and helpless. With Gondor ruling Saharel, there was no authority they could call on.

 

By the time they returned to their quarters, it was night and Machmad had returned. He took one look at Patroclus and said:

“I assume this is the one you have been looking for so long. I’m glad for you that you found him. Kahim, bring us some tea. We have to celebrate our friends’ success.”

The entire group came together. Patroclus was quickly overwhelmed by the others, who treated him as a friend. His Haradrim was no worse than Odysseus’ and he was able to answer some of their questions.

To his cousin and Odysseus he was more detailed.

“The army carried me off with many others, most of them Trojan prisoners. They didn’t keep a very close eye on us, and I was able to care for my wound, which was my luck. Suddenly, the army couldn’t move on fast enough, and any who slowed them down too much were killed or simply left behind to die in the desert.” Patroclus looked down, deep into his tea, and would not continue.

Achilles clasped his shoulder reassuringly. “You’re safe now.”

“I failed you, cousin,” the younger man said in a low, desolate voice.

“How?” Achilles frowned. “You survived. That’s all I care about.”

“I was afraid. I have never been so afraid. Always that thought that I would be the next one to die...”

“A warrior who does not fear at all, is reckless. Fear is useful, but it must not paralyze a man. Obviously it didn’t, otherwise you would not be here.”

The warrior pulled his cousin towards him and held him tightly to his strong shoulder and chest.

“What happened once you got through the desert?” Odysseus prodded.

“There were hardly any of us left by that time. The soldiers were getting annoyed because there was so little of the loot left. They hurried us to Saharel and then we and the loot were divided up very quickly. Aluhen Nur requested me. Apparently I reminded him of his son. He was ambassador of a country called Khand and had some power at the court. I think otherwise they might not have bothered with me long anymore. I planned to escape. But I didn’t know how I could ever cross the desert on my own.”

“It was good that you did not attempt it,” Achilles said.

Odysseus nodded in agreement.

Patroclus yawned, and abruptly Odysseus realized how late it was. The sun had gone down long ago, and they should probably go to bed soon.

“How are we going to get home?” Patroclus asked quietly.

Odysseus had shied away from that thought before—he did not want to try the desert again. But perhaps there were other ways, namely ships. He would have to talk to Machmad and Kahim.

* * *

Machmad planned to stay in Saharel for another week. He pulled Odysseus aside the next evening after the market had ended and said:

“Kahim told me of your visit to the Palace. You are a king and your companion a lord? You never told me, although I suspected that neither of you were ordinary men.”

“I apologize if we deceived you,” Odysseus replied. “I respect you and Kahim much, and without your help we would not have found Patroclus. But I did not believe it wise to speak without caution. Besides, what does it matter when our lands are far away and there is no way for anyone here to know whether we are lying or not?”

“You speak wisely, friend. Yet I believe that you spoke the truth, and I find it hard to continue treating you as a common guard. Your contract is nearly ended, and I should release you from my service. But you have use of me and would probably wish to return with me.”

“You’re right, we would much rather prefer to go with you. You plan to return to the coast, and we must go there as well. We are warriors, and we can and will be of use to you in protecting your caravan. Let our status not be a barrier. Were I in my own lands, I would not have need as I do here. But as it is, we even need the coins you pay us, for we need to find a way home.”

Machmad nodded. “Things will remain as they are now between us.”

“Thank you.”

* * *

Two days later, they received an invitation to the palace. They were somewhat surprised, but assumed it was because they had taken Patroclus away from his slaver. They had been asked to come at the end of the King taking petitions, and this time, they met both the Steward and the King. While King Elessar sat on the throne, Faramir sat on the Queen’s smaller chair as he had last time. Even more striking than the two were the men standing to one side of Elessar’s throne: one was a very pale, tall and slender man with bright blue eyes. He wore his pale blonde hair in several braids, and his ears were pointed. Odysseus’ instincts told him that this was an elf. The elf’s companion was quite the opposite: he was short and nearly squat, with a long, thick, red beard and braids in both his hair and his beard. His nose was large, and his eyes dark. He wore a rich cloak with gems that glittered like the stars in the night and armour that was a masterpiece.

“Greetings! I hear you were successful. I assume this is your friend?” Elessar said.

Odysseus had been right in assuming that the King of Gondor had ears and eyes in Saharel. It was also possible that Aluhen Nur had complained to either the Steward or the King, but he doubted it.

“We were successful, yes. This is Patroclus, Achilles’ cousin.”

“Greetings, Patroclus,” Elessar gave the younger man a slight nod. Turning back to Odysseus, as the Ithacan had always acted as their spokesman, he said:

“I had the major-domo find all slaves of Haradrim nobles in Saharel that were taken from your country, and gave them the same choice that I gave to the former prince: to try their luck in Gondor or to return to their homeland. Nearly all of them want to return, but the way is far and dangerous. I realize that some of them might have been your enemies in the past. Still, their chance is slim without your help. Would you lead them?”

Odysseus was surprised. Paris had said that none were left alive, but he had only known of those in the palace. Elessar had apparently had the personal houses of the nobles searched.

“How many are there?”

“Nineteen.”

“While I would be willing, please allow me to confer with my companion.”

Odysseus explained the matter to Achilles and Patroclus. While Achilles did not look as if he truly wanted to be the guide of a group that would very likely be mostly made up of youths, if not children, and most of them women, Patroclus immediately agreed that he wanted to help them. After all, he had shared their fate. For his cousin’s sake, Achilles allowed himself to be persuaded.

Odysseus turned back to Elessar:

“We would have to speak to them. Do they know who we are?”

“Prince Faramir told them, yes. They said the same: they wish to speak to you first. Prince Legolas and Lord Gimli will be present in case their aid is needed.”

“You mean in case there is trouble,” Odysseus replied with a smirk.

Elessar smiled easily. “Or that. They have experience with feuds.”

 

Prince Legolas and Lord Gimli were as different as the wood and the stone their respective races were said to be so fond off. Prince Legolas’ walk was inaudible, while the dwarf was as loud as a whole group of men. They walked in front of them, and Patroclus watched them closely with great fascination.

“What’s the point of having two watchers who don’t speak our language?” Achilles grumbled to the Ithacan.

“I’m certain they will understand when we’re about to rip each other’s throat out—if it comes to that.”

Lord Gimli and Prince Legolas led the Greeks into an airy room with a view of the garden where Odysseus had spoken with Paris. Eight people awaited them, so not all of the nineteen Elessar had spoken about. Odysseus found it curious that Paris was not present either. Of the eight, three were women and five were men. They varied in ages, although Odysseus would have estimated the oldest man to be around forty summers, and the oldest woman just over fifty. The youngest of the group was a boy of perhaps fifteen.

“I’m Odysseus, King of Ithaca,” Odysseus began, as tradition demanded that conversation be started by the one with the highest rank. “This is Achilles, Lord of the Myrmidons, and his cousin, Patroclus. Who speaks for you?”

“We all do,” the eldest among the women replied. “We speak for those who are not here. My name is Eulalie.” Pointing to the other women, she went on: “These are Mamie and Lois.” And continuing with the men, she introduced them in order of their age: “These are Phestos, Alastor, Kostis, Oineus and Castulo. All of us were from Troy, except Kostis, who fought for King Nestor of Pylos.”

“Are there any more Greeks among the nineteen Elessar spoke of to me?” Odysseus asked Kostis.

“Only two more, King Odysseus. One fought for King Diomedes, and the other fought for King Ajax.”

“Do you know of any other Greeks who survived?”

“None who remained in Saharel, to my knowledge.”

“Very well. We are brothers, of course, but I’m surprised the others trust us this much.”

Alastor snorted. “Trust has nothing to do with it. You’re our only chance to return home. We would not know where to travel, but you do. Let us be frank: we have no belongings; Troy lies destroyed; one of the women in our group was made a widow because of you; many others lost family or friends to the Achaeans. Yet we come to you for aid. But what do you demand in return?”

“Will Prince Paris return with you?” Achilles demanded now.

“He is so far undecided,” Oineus replied, his expression revealing nothing of his thoughts.

“A shame. He might have been useful as a thief, since you have nothing,” Achilles returned.

Castulo, the youngest, snickered before he remembered to control himself and bit his lip. The others did not react except for some uncomfortable shifting.

“What do you want?” Eulalie demanded again.

“You’ve said it yourself: you have nothing to give except yourselves.”

Lois paled. “Is that the price you would take?” She asked.

“I did not say that. We will think on the matter. We can meet again tomorrow.”

They still had some time before Machmad would leave Saharel. If they wanted to safely take anyone with them, they needed the merchant’s support.

 

To his surprise, Machmad and Kahim did not worry about it.

“It’s quite common for families to travel with a trading caravan; there is safety in numbers, no matter where you are. Sharing company does not require payment in these lands. Food, on the other hand, does. I imagine, however, that King Elessar may be willing to help you there. He is known for being generous.”

Odysseus thanked him. “Would you hire Achilles and I again on the return trip? It would help us with any supplies we would need between the end of our road together and our homeland.”

Machmad frowned a little. “It seems unseemly to me to hire a king and a lord to protect my wares. But there are many who would say that merchants know no morals, so I suppose my soul will survive and the gods will not blame me more for that than for any other deeds in my life.”

“Thank you again, Machmad. You have been of great value to me and my friend, and I will never forget you.”


	8. Chapter 8

Before their next meeting with the Trojans, Kostis inquired to speak to Odysseus. They met outside the palace, and the other Greek brought sweet fruit that Odysseus had never seen or tasted before in his life.

“You wished to talk to me,” Odysseus began.

“I wished to speak to you about the Trojans. I needn’t tell you about the past, for we both know what happened before the Haradrim attacked us. But I will tell you about what I experienced, and I’m confident that the other Achaeans who lived through the same would agree with me. I have never before been a slave; none of us had. But we were slaves here, and our death often seemed imminent to us. We survived alongside some Trojans and we learnt that we are not so different. Despite the differences in our homeland, I would call them friends, and there is a maid among them I would take as my wife if it were permitted.”

“If you want her, it is easy enough to carry a woman off and make her one’s own,” Odysseus interrupted.

“You’re right. But I do not believe that it makes for a content or faithful wife.”

“Very likely true.”

“What I mean to do is ask you to put aside the differences caused by the Trojan War and help all of us return home. If you wished, I could serve you or Lord Achilles in exchange. I realize that I’m only a single man, yet that is all I have to offer.”

“Even if you had not pleaded for them, I had not seriously thought about leaving them here. Yet at the same time I must be certain that they will not attempt to kill me or my comrades in our sleep.”

“That will not happen, I swear so by Zeus.”

 

As if Kostis had not been enough, Paris awaited him outside in the corridor. Kostis excused himself.

“You wish to speak to me?” Odysseus asked.

“Yes. Some of my... fellows have approached you about returning home. You did not give them an answer yesterday.”

“No, I did not. Have you come to plead for them?”

“Yes,” Paris replied honestly.

“Kostis has already done so.”

“You will lead them then?”

“Yes,” Odysseus said.

“I have your word?”

Odysseus narrowed his eyes. “You have it.” He gave him a hard look. “Are you planning to come with us?”

Paris looked away. “I haven’t decided.”

“The merchant we came with leaves in six days. Have your answer by then.”

“I will.”

Without a word of farewell, the former prince left.

* * *

In the meantime, Achilles also found himself ambushed—by Prince Legolas. The elf was dressed in robes today, not completely unlike the fashion of Saharel. Achilles had already had a close look at the being during the first negotiations with the Trojans. If what he had heard about elves was true, Prince Legolas’ build was deceiving. He was slender, with none of the bulky muscles Achilles himself had, and his expression was content and mild.

“Why were you waiting for me?” Achilles asked in Haradrim. His language skill might be somewhat worse than Odysseus, and he preferred having someone there to interpret for him, but he was capable of asking a simple question.

Instead of replying in Haradrim, however, the elf replied in a different language:

“Do you understand me?”

Achilles was so taken aback, that he needed a moment to regain his composure. None had spoken to him in this language except his mother, and even she only when he was much younger.

“Yes,” Achilles replied, confirming only what the elf had already learnt from his body language. “How come you to speak it?” He demanded. The words felt strange on his tongue, but he could feel the knowledge returning quickly.

“Who taught you?” The elf shot back.

“My mother,” Achilles found himself answering quite against his will.

“So my mind did not deceive me—I thought that you might have ties to the _Maiar_.”

Achilles knew that last word very well: as a child he had been fascinated by the name Thetis’ people called themselves.

“Are elves Maiar then?”

“No,” Prince Legolas replied, an amused smile on his face. “But we have a shared language, although it is not my native language. My people had less contact with the Maiar than other elves. What is your mother’s name and who are her parents?”

“Her name is Thetis, and her parents are Nereus and Doris, who dwell under the waters with their King, Poseidon, God of the Sea.”

The elf seemed disappointed. “I do not know their names, but your words tell me that they dwell in the realm of the one who we call Lord Ulmo. I have seen the sea, and it will forever call me West until I obey or die. Have you made your choice yet?”

“What choice?”

“The choice of mortality or immortality. Do you not know of it?”

Excitement gripped Achilles. “There is a choice?”

“Usually, yes, for those born from a mortal and an immortal. But perhaps it is different for you, I cannot say.”

“What is required for that choice then?”

“Nothing but that you make it. I see that this is all new to you. I’m sorry that I cannot help you with it, for I know little about it. Elessar’s wife, Arwen, chose mortality when she pledged herself to Elessar; her twin brothers, who are my brothers-in-arms, have not made their choice yet; they are the ones who would know, but none of them are here.”

“And I will not travel further north,” Achilles replied, disappointed. Although he could perhaps chance the journey, he had already travelled farther than any Greek in legend, and he desired to leave these strange lands and return home to familiar grounds. “I will ask my mother once I have returned.”

Prince Legolas nodded. “A good idea.”

* * *

Six days later, Machmad’s caravan left Saharel. The merchant had done well for himself at the market, sold all of the goods he had come with and bought others instead. As they carried fewer goods this time around, he had only rehired five carriers and six guards including Odysseus and Achilles. Kahim was naturally also part of the group.

Their caravan was joined by Patroclus and the nineteen former slaves. Of those seven were men, eleven were women, and two were children younger than fourteen summers. And finally another family of six accompanied them for some of the way. They had come to Saharel to sell camels and where now returning home.

Odysseus felt confident that, barring any troubles, they would travel safely and relatively quickly to the mouth of the River Harnen. From there they would have to see. Machmad had told him about the Harad Road, which led straight south and which the army had taken. But water was scarce there, and Odysseus preferred the idea of acquiring a ship, where he would have at least some experience, to trusting the Gods to lead him true through the desert that had nearly killed them before. This time, they encountered no problems on the road. Ephai gave them a warm welcome and they rested at his house for a few days. Then they moved on, and before a cycle of a moon had passed, they arrived at the harbour city where the River Harnen flowed into the sea.

There, Machmad turned to Odysseus and said:

“You’ll be needing a ship now. But you cannot buy one, because you do not have enough gold for that. But there are other ways.”

“We could capture one,” Achilles suggested.

“When we hardly know how to sail the ships the people have here? Not to mention that there are only seven of us men? I doubt it,” Odysseus replied.

“It would be less costly if you found someone you could book passage with. But I have never heard of anyone who sails to your lands.”

“Perhaps we’ll find someone in Umbar,” Odysseus said.

Machmad gave a reluctant nod. “Perhaps. Unfortunately, I will not go with you. I’m going north, to Pelargir.”

“Then we part here, to my great regret. You have been a good friend; without your help, we might not have been able to achieve what we set out to do.”

“You saved my life at Ephai’s home. Let us remain together for the next two days, and see whether we cannot help each other one more time.”

Once again Machmad’s contacts proved useful to Odysseus and his group. They found a captain who was willing to take them to a port city south of the Havens, an offer Odysseus gladly accepted. Machmad assured him that this port city was not as filthy and corrupt as the City of the Corsairs.

In the end it took three ships south to find their way back to the familiar waters of the Aegean Sea. They arrived on the beach of Troy first, where, to their great surprise, the city was once more inhabited and well on its way to being rebuilt. The Trojans were overjoyed. They thanked the Achaeans and said their goodbyes. Only the girl Kostis of Pylos had had an eye on stayed.

“Would you like to go inside?” Odysseus asked his remaining companions once the other had gone.

“Aren’t you afraid someone might recognize you or Achilles?” Kostis asked.

The Ithacan smiled. “That’s easy to fix.”

They had exchanged their Haradrim clothing for something more to their liking long ago, and hooded cloaks were part of their attire. Odysseus pulled his hood over his head and down over his forehead. His face was thus shadowed, and the rapidly sinking sun would ensure that none would catch too clear a look at his face. Achilles copied him with a smirk. Patroclus and the others didn’t need such precautions.

“Do you want to pay the palace a visit and see who rules now?” The Myrmidon asked.

Odysseus laughed. “I think not, brother. I just want a warm meal and a bed; tomorrow we will see about finding a ship.”

Going to the palace would mean thinking of Paris—the princeling he had left far behind in foreign lands.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Into the Unknown](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1117333) by [JuMclia (mangacrack)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mangacrack/pseuds/JuMclia)




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